Control
by dadadadum
Summary: Because Sasuke didn't want a jewelry box, he wanted something he could break.


a/n: not sure where this sparked from, but tell me what you think. lemony? ehhh.  
it's three in the morning, all I can hope is that this fic reads coherently.

pairing: SasuGaa  
disclaimer: oh pleaaaaase

* * *

He didn't want to speak, and that was just fine. Gaara probably didn't want to listen, anyway. He was far too busy peeling off each separate layer of Sasuke's clothes. Pale fingers, delicate for a boy, popping the buttons from his shirt, and toying with the resulting frayed thread. Gaara leaned in, not quick kissing, but trailing his lips and his teeth across Sasuke's skin. His hands continued on without a pause, tugging on the belt wound in Sasuke's nondescript khaki pants, and gracefully undoing the buttons and zippers that contained the reason for their coming together like this.

Sasuke didn't want to think about that, he wanted to throw the red head on the cheap hotel mattress and fuck him. That's why he paid for the room. Not to compare slim digits to the small, dainty hands of his wife. Nor to wonder what she was doing now; if she'd gone to bed early, or continued to wait for him on their worn front room couch.

He hissed, and Gaara glared up at him with haunting lime green eyes. The grip on his hard-on dwelled just on the thin borderline of pleasure-inducing pain, so he twisted forward and bit down on Gaara's creamy smooth neck. It was the red head's turn to groan and shudder, simultaneously yanking Sasuke further from his original intentions. Each pull had him leaning heavily against the smaller man, digging into his arms and shoulders, and finding it essential that Gaara's clothes be removed as well.

The older man pushed his hands beneath Gaara's faded gray sweater and pulled it cleanly over his head. Gaara stumbled back, having been caught by surprise, and threw Sasuke a condescending grimace. Contrarily, Sasuke was elated by this previously overlooked gold mine. He wrapped his fingers about Gaara's wrists, and shoved him indisputably against the nearest wall.

So Sasuke was a lot stronger, whoop-dee-fucking-doo, Gaara's expression sneered. He arched his back off the wall, grinding his pelvis into Sasuke's groin and eliciting a very poorly restrained moan. In an attempt to level the playing field, Sasuke grabbed Gaara's hair in one hand, his crotch in the other, and pried his lips open with his tongue. Gaara didn't resist; he squirmed against the angle forced on his neck, and gave a demanding thrust against Sasuke's palm.

Was this what he'd been looking for?

Gaara steered them away from the wall, and turned to fall backwards on the mattress, a tight grip on Sasuke's unkempt raven hair keeping the man close. He leaned off the bed, pressing himself deliberately against the body above him, to slide his jeans and boxers off. Sasuke didn't have time to waste appreciating the picture. He pressed two of his fingers to Gaara's mouth, and the red head coated them with saliva while Sasuke's tongue mirrored the process unnecessarily against Gaara's throat.

His other hand continued to run through short, brick red hair. He tried to keep his focus on the neck he bruised and marked, but he couldn't help but think of the body he didn't dare attack in such a way. The gentler shade of rose hair he would never jerk to the side for greater access to heated, delicious skin. The body he kept in a glass case, because his fingers were far too dirty for something so pure.

"Lamenting?" Gaara spat, flushed and needy. Sasuke sealed their lips together as a response, pushing his fingers under Gaara's backside and devouring the heavy pants that spilled from the boy like air. Something better than air, something warm and pulsing and alive. Gaara told him to hurry the fuck up and Sasuke obliged, never having felt so dominated while towering over such a slight frame.

There was no bullshit about adjusting and making sure Gaara wasn't hurt. The red head dug his nails hard enough into Sasuke's thighs to draw blood, and Sasuke got the message easy enough. He thrust into Gaara recklessly, studying the warmth staining Gaara's cheeks and abdomen where Sasuke had kissed him. He paused just before they reached the end, to watch the red head twist and snarl in agitation, claw at any part of Sasuke he could reach to make the fucker move.

And Sasuke, with an untimely does of imagination, remembered his wedding night, and the very different hotel room with a very different companion.

He trained his eyes on Gaara, now. The furious set of his swollen mouth, and the thin trail of saliva curving around his chin. His blunt fingernails were carving punishing ribbons out of his hips, and the look on his face was far more feral than Sasuke had ever seen on a wild animal. He thrashed and cursed and Sasuke shut him up with a kiss that felt a lot more like a bite with less teeth.

Gaara bit Sasuke's tongue, and the raven haired man drove them both over the edge with the taste of blood in his mouth.


End file.
